The Shadow That Almost Was
by Puppeteer of the Realms
Summary: The infamous Team Reaper is already feared for being different. In this tale of terror, torture and tragedy, journey into an alternate possibility with an even darker Reaper, and an infinitely more tragic end. CONTAINS SPOILERS TO MY FANFICITON TEAM REPR. Rated M for explicit gore and reference to sexual themes.
1. A short stroll through Hell

**WARNING! This fanfiction contains HUGE spoilers to events that have yet to occur in Team REPR! You have been warned.**

A/N: So, I've been getting in a mood to write something very, _very _dark, and this is the product of those evil little sprites in my brain doing just that. THIS IS AN AU OF TEAM REPR. The events to unfold in this story will **NOT **happen the same way, or at all, in the main fanfiction. Hense the title.

Anyway! Prepare for some feels in the coming chapters, shit's about to get real. You might want to put a helmet on for this one...

P.S.: This is going to be a little side project of mine while I wait for Relks to catch up in our collaboration.

See you on the other side~

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**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own RWBY. The series and affiliated copyrights go to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.**

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_How did it come to this?_

This was the single, stubbornly engrained thought that now burned like a hot iron in the tired mind of Professor Ozpin. How_ had_ it come to this? The four of them were so promising, and they proved capable of incredible feats. Ozpin sat and leaned forward, supporting much of his weight into his cane which he perched on the cold concrete below him. _What to do…_

Sharp footsteps echoed through the fluorescent-lit hallway, though the long tubes of light were weak, and very dim. Some of the lights flickered and nearly died, casting wicked shadows on the walls and floor as the hard claps of footsteps cut the air like a knife. The consistent thrumming came to an abrupt halt and Ozpin could feel the presence hovering just above and to his right. He opened his heavy eyelids and lazily turned his attention to the form before him.

"They are securely contained in four individual cells, specialized precautions have been taken in each case. Guards are stationed at every exit, we're ready to evaluate their condition." Glynda Goodwitch thumbed the display of her scroll, skimming through the status of each cell's containment seals. She paused and turned her narrow, calculating gaze to Ozpin and noticed the visible stress outlining her life-long comrades features. "...Ozpin, it's time. We must address this, they have committed an atrocity. I'm sorry, but the.. the students they once were are no more."

"Yes.. Yes you're right." With a seemingly significant amount of force, though it was not his weight which hindered him, Ozpin pressed down on the handle of his cane and rose to his feet. His body felt twice as heavy as it should, a clear sign of his trepidation. "Let's begin."

* * *

Ozpin strode down the dark corridor lined with guards, all armed to the teeth, ready to stand fast in the face of imminent danger should things turn sour. As he passed one of the tactically-armored soldiers, he caught the muted clanking of metal plates and shifting cloth. The man was shaken to his core.

The only other sound was Ozpin's heavy footsteps mirrored by the loud claps of Glynda's heels and his cane. She followed just feet behind, her attention buried in her scroll. Though she didn't show it, she was just as riddled with doubt as Professor Ozpin was.

She tapped an icon on the digital pad, opening the detailed information of each cell. "Cell number three-seven-two. Optimized for Aura-manifestation inhibition. Ventilation circulating constant flow of vaporized anesthetic, doses closely monitored for prisoner health." Glynda paused after that last phrase as a lump formed in her throat. _Prisoner.._ With forced commitment, she continued. "Occupant: Natasha Raven. Offenses: terrorism, murder, arson, assassination and attempted kidnapping. Status: contained. Face-to-face interview ill-advised, but possible. Threat level: low."

Ozpin stopped before a tinted window looking into a small, featureless room. In the center of the room, Natasha sat in a steel chair with her body practically draped on the metal frame as her head was lazily sagging forward. Her eyes were open, but she didn't acknowledge the presence of Professor Ozpin on the other side of the two-way mirror. Each of the cells had a bullet-resistant, two-way mirror. A safe alternative to a face-to-face interview, should its use be warranted.

Natasha wore ripped, bloody tactical clothing including several bandages on her cheek, forearm, abdomen and one of her exposed wolf ears. She no longer wore her typical contact lenses, nor did she bother with makeup on her eyes. The prominent features of her Faunus heritage stood out more now than Ozpin had ever seen from her before. Natasha's irises were a dark, glimmering gold, and the skin pigmentation on the very edge of the eyelids was completely pitch-black. Without her meticulous effort, Natasha's eyes truly resembled that of a feral wolf.

The young Faunus' gaze lazily wandered the room through half-closed eyes, barely keeping over the edge of consciousness. The anesthetic being pumped into the room kept her in a groggy state of alertness, dancing along the line of being awake or asleep.

Ozpin watched for a full minute in disdain. He felt so guilty, so responsible for the crimes committed by Natasha and her team, but he knew it would only get worse. He tore his gaze from the chamber and walked with even heavier steps to the next cell.

"Cell number three-nine-five. Optimized for resistance to volatile materials and corrosive vapors. Entire cell coated in half-inch plated glass, resistant to three-thousand psi under extreme conditions. Occupant: Melania Pearl. Offenses: terrorism, murder, kidnapping and torture. Status: contained. Extreme mental instability linked to multiple personality disorder leaves subject prone to episodic fits of psychosis. Human contact restricted. Threat level: high." Professor Goodwitch finished giving the status of Melania's cell just before she covered her mouth with her free hand and her eyes went wide. The report included the believed cause of her mental state, and threatened a strong gag reflex in the usually strong-willed Huntress.

Ozpin placed a supportive hand on his partner's shoulder, and she reflexively leaned into his side as she clamped her eyes shut. It was getting to her, the sheer injustice inflicted to these.. these children, was disgusting. No one deserved to suffer the way they had. The stoic headmaster lightly squeezed Glynda in a half-hug, before moving aside and ushering her to the next cell in line. "Go, you don't need to see this."

His blonde partner numbly paced the hall to the cell further in the complex, but he stayed and surveyed the broken girl in the room before him. Melania sat with her legs crossed on the glass-covered floor, fidgeting with a small scrap of red cloth tied to her wrist. She still wore the biker-esque clothing that was her norm, with the addition of many new rips and missing patches of fabric and leather. The most distinct, most incredibly disturbing features of the girl was her almost ever-present wicked smile, the quiet cackle that followed not far behind the smile, and the multitude of cuts along her forearms and a patch of exposed skin on her thigh. All of the small nicks were equal in length and consistently spaced about a centimeter apart, each was capped with a rust-colored scab and surrounded by irritated red skin.

Melania's manic giggle broke Ozpin's concentration and drew his attention to her hands. With her hands held adjacent to each other, she tapped her fingers together in ascending order from her pinky, ring finger, middle finger and so on, back and forth in a cycle. After a few cycles, her hollow laugh returned for a moment and her smile tugged a little further back, all the while her eyes conveyed almost no emotion at all.

Ozpin's cane began to creak as he subconsciously gripped the handle of his cane even harder, causing his knuckles to turn bone white from the force. He had to tear himself from the sight, again, as he followed Goodwitch to the next gut-wrenching sight to behold.

Every step, every sight, every memory of the tragic, all of it added what felt like a ton of weight on his shoulders as he advanced. His will was losing the battle with his soul-crushing despair. Never the less, he stood straight, and held his ground.

The next cell in line was down a flight of stairs and near the dead end of a corridor. Glynda stood on the opposite side of the glass, her scroll in hand ready to relay the next report. This time, Ozpin caught the small edge of disgust barely poking through Glynda's stone visage. Unlike the other two, it was clearly evident she held no pity for this prisoner.

"Cell number four-two-six. Modified blast chamber retro-fitted to resist high-explosive detonation and distort resonant frequencies. Armor plating consisting of various alloys to disperse harmonic vibrations. Occupant: Roan Ashworth. Offenses: terrorism, murder, organized crime, torture, insider trading, armed robbery…" the list continued, but Glynda's eyes slightly narrowed and she began to silently mouth the words as she kept reading. She sighed and skipped to the notes, "Subject susceptible to unnecessary/malicious shows of force to impose authority. Human contact restricted. Threat level: high..." Glynda started to mirror Ozpin's signs of hopelessness as she nodded her head in disgust. "How did things go so far? Where did we go wrong?" she whispered more to herself than to Ozpin.

Inside the cramped room, Roan sat in a steel chair with his hands bound to the armrests in heavy, sturdy metal braces which covered his entire hand and most of his forearm. Similar braces adorned his feet and shins, and both were bolted to the floor with thick, wound cables of steel. Of the four, Roan's appearance had changed the most. His hair was slicked back again, though a few locks were draped in front of his eyes from the struggles, and he was dressed in a black and crimson suit very reminiscent of the classic mafia motif.

Like the others, his extravagant, expensive clothing was tattered, torn, and slightly bloodied from his capture. Unlike the others, however, he was so far the only one in a stable state-of-mind. Roan sat relaxed in the chair with his posture straight and his eyes closed, waiting. In contrast to the rough-and-tumble clothes he wore when he was first united with his comrades, he now wore a matte black dress shirt underneath a blood-red button up vest with an equally crimson tie closely tightened to his neck, even after fighting to the last breath and being captured. Though he originally shunned his own birthright as a noble, he was the highest of high class criminal. His sheer calm filled the air with an almost sharp, lethal sense about him.

_Even turned criminal, the sense of irony still hovers over him like a cloud_, Ozpin thought in a completely observant sense. Even if he were to try, there was no way Ozpin could find any grain of amusement inside any of these cells. Strangely, with Roan as a stabilizing element, Professor Ozpin found solace in his consistency to usher himself onward to the final prisoner.

That little amount of solace granted, was almost immediately dashed away as the two instructors approached the two-way mirror of the final prison cell. Glynda cleared her throat of the anxious lump and began the fourth and final report.

"Cell number four-four-zero. Standard maximum-security cell for typical prisoners. Light fixtures altered with high-power LEDs. Occupant: Vladimir Ebon. Offenses: terrorism, murder, and conspiracy to overthrow the military regime.. Subject suffers from mass hallucinations, cause unknown. Status: not contained. Threat level: extreme…" Professor Goodwitch finished the final report on the rogue Team REPR, and she let her hand drop to her side, limp._ I can't take much more of this.._ she thought as she brushed away the beginnings of a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Glynda," Ozpin cut in, breaking the silence. She lazily turned her attention to the green clad professor through half-closed eyes. "If it would ease your mind, I can interview them alone."

The stern blonde closed her scroll and clasped her hands in front of her. "No, no I'll be fine. This must be done."

Ozpin gave a small, sincere nod before turning his attention to the brightly lit room through the glass. Like the others, it was small, about eight by ten feet in dimension, with a steel chair in the center. Vladimir sat with his back to a corner and his knees pulled close to his chest. No doubt, he was having issues with his Semblance. Of the four, Vlad's physical appearance changed the most after Roan's.

Vlad wore a sleeveless body-shirt with an attached hood, exposing both his arms which were wrapped in a multitude of bandages from sustained wounds during his own capture, much like the others. On his legs was a pair of silky black pants over skin-tight cloth leggings for flexibility. A pair of custom-made split-toe tabi adorned his feet, which he used to ultimate efficiency for scaling any and all obstacles. Also like the others, there was one major change in particular which was alarming. In Vlad's case, it was the massive red and blue full-sleeve tattoo obscuring his entire right arm from his shoulder, down to his wrist and the back of his hand.

The intricate tattoo depicted white angel wings on and around his shoulder leading down to a mural of different angels, creatures, and runes which stretched to his elbow where the depictions were rendered in a contrasting red. The images on his forearm were those of demons, dark cruxes, and all manner of beast to end in black chains around the wrist. Every single drop of ink imbedded in his skin was in fact Dust. A direct conduit to channel Dust from powder, or even a crystal, straight into his body, and from there, his Aura.

Ozpin sighed and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. _Of all the mistakes I've made, of the sins I've committed, the lives.. I've ruined, these four will be the ones to forever condemn my soul…_

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A/N: So, the idea here is that Team REPR was recruited by Ozpin in hopes of leading them down the path of good. The twist in this little pocket dimension is that Ozpin failed, and Team REPR goes down the path of evil, and destruction. But not for the reasons you might think. Wanna know what I mean? Just keep reading...


	2. Broken

A/N: I just wanted to clear something up because it might get a little confusing. The next chapters, this one included, are going to be written in 'sessions'. In actuality, Ozpin is conducting the interviews one at a time, but I'm doing cutaways and presenting them together in sync between all four members of REPR.

See you on the other side~

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**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own RWBY. The series and affiliated copyrights go to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.**

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It wasn't until Ozpin had to make the trek back to the first cell that he noticed how far each one was spaced apart from the next. With the stationary guards acting as a sort of landmark in the almost labyrinthine complex, the distraught headmaster had plenty of time to plan out the next few hours before the dim light of Natasha's cell finally came into view.

Without his noticing the fact, Ozpin's footsteps slowed somewhat as he neared, trepidation and guilt digging their stubborn talons into his legs. The steadfast Hunter was hindered so severely that his mind anchored him in place as he contemplated, and he ultimately stopped completely. He still had no game plan, no strategy, not even an inkling of an idea upon which to base his actions. Ozpin placed his free hand on top of the other which held his cane and closed his eyes, furthering his almost trance-like state of contemplation. Though this didn't last long, as a gentle hand on his shoulder interrupted his train of thought.

"Why don't you just talk to them? They were once your students, more like your own children than anything, I would like to think that hasn't changed for them, either," Glynda offered with a strained, sad smile. Her emerald eyes looked murky, and full of gloom, but they gave no impression of forced enthusiasm. Glynda was practically unraveling at the seams, but she genuinely hoped that the fate befallen the former Team REPR wasn't entirely a sad tale of misfortune. She chose to believe there was a light hiding at the end of this tunnel.

Ozpin released a bit of the tension in his shoulders as a small smile dared to crack his lips, but only a little. A thought budded in his mind, and he slightly turned his head back toward Glynda without looking her in the eye. "I know this is hard for you, so promise me if I ask you not to watch, that you won't." The smile evaporated from both of them, and the somber fog returned in its wake.

Glynda tightened her grip on the closed scroll in her hand, before releasing the pressure moments later. She knew he was right. She knew she couldn't bear the weight of the truth, told by none other than the victims of this cruel world. "...Alright," she reluctantly conceded, taking her place before the window looking upon the barely conscious form of Natasha Raven. She opened her scroll and tapped away, hoping procedure would ease her mind in the hours to come.

Professor Ozpin approached a steel door with no handle adjacent to the cell and addressed the guard stationed to the right of the door itself. "Kill the anesthetic, it won't be necessary," he ordered, his tone almost deadpan.

"Sir, these criminals-"

"They are not criminals, no more than you or I can call ourselves heroes," Ozpin interrupted, his tone remaining as calm as when he began.

"These.. prisoners, are incredibly dangerous sir," the guard advised, correcting his slip in the process.

"They will do me no harm, they have no reason to. Open the door."

The guard placed a finger to his ear and spoke into the microphone strapped to his neck. "Open the outer lock to three-seventy-two. Halt the anesthetic." Following the mechanical chorus of locks disengaging, the metal plate of a door retracted into the adjacent wall, revealing a very small room lit by a single light in the ceiling. Ozpin stepped into the cramped chamber, barely larger than a closet, and patiently waited as the door advanced and locked back into place, sealing him in. The only other feature of the small room was another door, the same as the first, to his right. A loud whirring sound emanated somewhere above him, drawing his attention to the fans that were likely circulating the drug out of the air on the other side of the door.

Inside the cell, the sudden break in silence roused Natasha from her grogginess, but only slightly. Through eyes half closed, her golden irises slowly scanned the room from left to right, peering into every crevice for sign of change. She didn't remember how one entered this room, she wasn't conscious when she had after alll, but it had to be a retracting door of some kind. That was really the only logical option. As she searched, her body sat completely rigid and she felt as if some weight lifted itself from her chest and made it easier to breathe. It felt less stuffy, less invasive.

Her slowly drifting gaze stopped upon her reflection, and she subconsciously squinted her eyes at the defiant expression on her own face. _The drug is getting pumped out… Is it time?_ She thought as she tensed one of her limp hands into a fist. One of her black wolf ears slightly twitched in annoyance as echoing mechanical clicks filled the silence left by the now quiet fans in the cell. A panel slid inward from one of the walls, and slowly retreated into the adjacent wall to reveal the tired, tense figure of Professor Ozpin.

Before the door even opened an inch, however, Natasha stood and clenched her muscles, ready to make a break for the door through whoever, or whatever, stood on the other side. Her body locked again when she looked upon her former mentor's face. Her expression soured and she bared her teeth, revealing elongated canines through a scowl. She stood straighter and dashed away her thoughts of escaping through the green-clad headmaster.

"Ozpin…" she whispered in a low growl, her gold eyes locked on his dusty hazel ones. Natasha held the threatening stare for almost a full minute, and Ozpin made no move other than to stand opposite her, between the young Faunus and her reflection. The air radiating off the woozy Huntress was full of spite and suspicion, but she couldn't find a single sign of foul play in his disposition. With an audible sigh, Natasha dropped back into the chair and averted her eyes with her arms crossed. "What do _you_ want, old man?"

"I just want to talk. I'm not here to bend you to my law, or any other law for that matter."

Natasha scoffed at his tone and her scowl deepened. "Now, tell me why you're _really_ here." She kept her head tilted to the side and stared at the wall, refusing to look her mentor in the eye.

Professor Ozpin sighed and his shoulders slouched, both arms practically going slack but still holding on to the base of his cane. "I just.. I want to know why," he conceded. After another sigh, he closed his eyes and pushed his glasses back up his nose. When his eyes opened, he came to find the Faunus staring daggers straight through his skull again. Her face, in tandem with her wolf ears conveying her emotion gave her a bizarre expression. The emotion her face conveyed was purely anger, edged by betrayal and despair. The wolf ears atop her head were tilted back and away, and the combination of both made her out to look like a kicked puppy: mad that it had been kicked, but confused as to why.

"You want to know why?" she parroted, the surprise in her voice ringing louder within her anger. "_Why?!_" she bellowed, standing from the chair as her ears completely laid back flat against her head. "Was it not enough that Melania became a rambling psychopath?! Does it not satisfy you that I'm furious because my best friend wakes up SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER because he _literally_ sees the faces of the dead and hears their cries of terror whenever he dreams?! IS THAT NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE FAMOUS HEADMASTER OF BEACON?!" Natasha spun on her heel and screamed as she slammed her foot into the steel chair behind her, the shaped metal easily giving way and bending under the force before smashing into the wall. She huffed and let her weight drop to the floor as she leaned her back against the wall and propped her right knee up close to her chest, all the while tears brimmed in the edges of her glistening, anger filled eyes. "Do you know what your problem is, Ozpin? You're too kind. Beacon is just a blissful, naive plight to fight back the dark. But this world is a corrupt, filthy, disgusting place. No amount of good will can ever clean the stains of evil and cruelty from Remnant…"

Ozpin waited several long minutes before speaking again, he could tell Natasha was having a hard time just keeping calm and not turning on him. Even after everything that happened, a small candle-light of hope flickered. She still trusted him, it seemed. "I'm not here to justify my actions. You know, better than most, the kind of mistakes I've made in my life, and I can't fix that. But I can try to make this world brighter for the next generation, my last act of good will before it's too late."

Natasha coughed a half-hearted laugh at the naive optimism and whispered to herself, "How do you keep hope?"

"Pardon?" Ozpin asked, unable to make out the mumble.

"I said ask your damn questions, we're going to be here awhile so you might as well get comfortable," she bit back, her scowl returning to hide the weak small smile.

* * *

Glynda Goodwitch and Professor Ozpin approached the next cell with sluggish, heavy footsteps. As they neared the illuminated window, Ozpin stopped in his tracks and waited for his partner to do the same.

"What is it?" the haggard blonde asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't want you here for this next one. I'm not even sure I'll make it out of that cell intact…"

Glynda narrowed her eyes for a moment, "Has she really become so dangerous?"

"No," he whispered, his tone growing dark as his gaze dropped to the floor, "Not in the way you think."

The stern woman bit her lip to stop from arguing her refusal to allow him in the same room with her, but Ozpin was far too determined to put these four to rest. "...Alright." With her head slightly sagging forward, Glynda continued past the window without daring to look inside.

The increasingly solemn professor was left there to muster up his own willpower in order to face the fractured mind of Melania Pearl. His endeavor's only met the cold truth that he would never be ready for the tales to be told, and he sighed as he ushered on anyway. "Open the door."

"Sir.. I've already been told of your conviction to see this through. But this girl is incredibly unstable," the stationed guard advised with previous knowledge of what Ozpin told to his comrade.

"I know. All too well, I am aware of her state."

The guard shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, "As you wish. Open it," he finished with the command into his microphone just as the first had done.

Ozpin repeated the process of entering the lock, only to find this closet-sized chamber to be completely encased in solid, half-inch thick plate glass. He then reminded himself of the counter-measure in effect for the next in his line of interviews. In the back of his mind, a single thorn of doubt sprouted high from the ocean that was his calm, before he quickly pushed it back under the surface and erased it from his mind. If he didn't trust himself to be safe after walking beyond the door before him, then he didn't deserve to be here in the first place.

The sturdy door mimicked the others and slid into the adjacent wall, revealing the glossy, reflective surfaces of the cubic room. At first, Ozpin didn't actually see Melania. The room had no chair like the others, and Melania sat slouched in a corner of the room, passed out cold. Ozpin exhaled and realized he was holding his breath. With slow, deliberate motions, he gripped the midsection of his cane with his left hand and approached the unconscious girl, kneeling and placing his free hand on her shoulder. "Ms. Pearl," he whispered while gently shaking her shoulder. "Ms. Pearl?"

Nothing. Silence. She didn't even stir in the slightest.

Ozpin leaned back on the ball of his foot and let his right knee touch the ground. "Melania?" he asked one last time, as he was immediately shocked to find a pair of stark green eyes beaming in his direction. Melania's expression was completely blank as her eyes stretched open and she stared at Ozpin, her pupils ever-so-slightly jerking from position to position as she very closely observed the Professor.

Her pupils stopped their hurried scan of the older man and settled back upon his own eyes, before a broad, almost sinister grin spread across her lips and she tackled Ozpin's torso in a hug. "It's the wizard man!"

Ozpin barely caught his balance, shifting his weight off his knee and propping himself forward with his hands before the girl tackled him completely to the ground. To say the least, the green headmaster was surprised by the sudden outburst. Seemingly fitting, his only reaction was to pat a hand on her back as she squeezed her arms around his torso. Melania released her grip moments later, and she scooted back to sit cross-legged in front of Ozpin with the almost conniving smile still present, accompanied by an equally gleeful expression.

"How come you stopped visiting me?" she asked. On cue, her head tilted on its axis and an expression of pure curiosity painted itself on her face.

"Ms. Pe- Melania, I'm not your teacher anymore," was Ozpin's answer as he stood back to his full height, though the dishevelled Huntress opted to stay on the floor.

Melania touched a finger to her chin as she looked to the ceiling with a wondrous expression, "But you were always fun…." she muttered dejectedly as she shifted her weight and hugged her knees close to her chest. The sudden change in her composure surprised Ozpin, even though he was expecting it. The only thing surprising was the sheer speed at which her mind shifted.

Ozpin was very careful with choosing his next words, if he worded his sentence in just the right way - or rather the wrong way - then he really would be in danger. "How much do you remember from the past four years?"

"...Enough," the gloomy girl responded in a hushed tone, her face hidden behind her bangs as she attempted to stare a hole through her lap.

There was no way around it, one way or another, he was going to have to ask a question that would inevitably make the broken young girl slip into a rage. "Melania.." he whispered as he slowly lowered himself to the ground again, getting to eye level, "Do you remember what happened three years ago on the last day of class?"

"...Yes," the somber girl answered in a nigh-whisper. "We passed our exams, and Natasha was so happy Roan didn't fail. And I was happy too… We went out to Vale with Team RWBY and Team JNPR to celebrate… and then….. then….."

The older Professor had to swallow past a stone in his throat, bitterly regretting was he was putting the young girl through. "I know it hurts, but do you remember what happened next?" Melania was quiet at first, her curled form going completely still as her mind processed Ozpin's question. The memories came flooding back, vivid and colorful as they washed over her in a deluge of mixed emotion. Laughter, starting slow and quiet, emanated from the girl and grew to a deranged, uproarious cackle as she suddenly jolted to her feet. It was not the rise of a sane human, but more like a marionette that had been yanked to its feet by the strings.

"Ehaha, I remember all right!" the girl's voice was low and dark, the words practically dripping with barely constrained hate. "I remember those filthy fucking pigs touching me. Groping me! I remember melting that shit-eyed fuck's face clean off and the look on the other two as he turned to blood and ash! I remember the boy in red grabbing the other two at the end of the alley and the loud noise after, how he made those disgusting, bile-filled vermin erupt into geysers of blood and painted the alley the same color as his hair with their agony! AND I REMEMBER HOW YOU JUST PUT ME IN A BOX JUST LIKE THIS ONE WHEN THEY BROUGHT ME BACK!"

Ozpin let his eyes close and his body relaxed. If she chose to end him, he would go into the next world with no regrets. He would go accepting the punishment from his failure. But fate, as it seemed, had different plans for him.


	3. Festering Scars

A/N: Sorry for the long wait between chapters. With Team REPR as my priority, this and my other RWBY side-project are starting to get neglected, especially with my partner and I picking up some momentum in the creative process. As a warning, the following chapters of this may have longer and longer gaps between updates of my main fanfiction, but I will try to deliver to you quality chapters on a regular basis, should I somehow find free time to do so.

See you on the other side~

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**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own RWBY. The series and affiliated copyrights go to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.**

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What was only hours in a room with Melania aged Ozpin years, a mere sapling in the face of a maelstrom of hate and pain, all recalled in stunned horror by the girl. Ozpin had outlived many of the greats throughout his life, legends all in their own right. He shared in life, and grieved in death. Yet in all his years of watching the black truth of death take its greedy prize from the living, the living victims themselves were always worse. They withstood the trials, challenges and adversaries attacking them on all sides. They were inflicted grievous wounds, disfiguring their already frail forms. Sometimes, the physical wounds could turn stomachs, but the mental wounds were so much more disturbing.

Ozpin now sat in a chair in one of the four specialized cells, across from Roan Ashworth. After consigning himself to a near death experience at the hands of a broken Melania, and the hours of interviewing both her and Natasha, Ozpin decided it best to seat himself for the remaining two. To his surprise, however, Roan was the most calm of the three so far. In his time at Beacon, Ozpin would have assumed Roan to become infinitely more volatile and malicious after the events befalling Vladimir and Melania.

Yet, with the storm come and gone on the path behind him, here sat Roan Ashworth, the ever dramatic wild-card of Team REPR, calm. Completely calm. Unusually calm... _Unreasonably _calm. Wait... "Stay with us, Mr. Ashworth," Ozpin beckoned as he snapped his fingers twice, rousing the crimson-themed member of REPR from a near slumber.

Roan inhaled sharply as his head bucked up, hitting the cushioned head rest in the process. His eyes snapped open, "Huh? Wha- oh, right."

"Try and stay awake. Now," Ozpin paused, leaning back into the uncomfortable metal chair, "you were going to tell me about what lead you to believe organized crime held the answers to."

Roan let his head sag against the chair again, the only real free movement afforded him while restrained in the chair he sat it. "Vindication, retribution, validation, revenge. A few other Vs and Rs, among other things," he lazily responded while his gaze randomly staring at the ceiling. "At least, that's what _I _wanted. What _I _thought we should do."

Ozpin nodded, finding it believable of the ruffian to warrant vengeance. Although he did not condone it, he understood Roan's reasoning. "And what did the others want?"

"The same thing really. But they wanted a different flavor of vindication, it's even another V," Roan vaguely answered.

"Keep going."

After releasing a pent up sigh, Roan continued. "A Vendetta."

Ozpin straightened in the chair and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You wanted to wage war?"

"Against you, that is correct," Roan affirmed, finally locking eyes with Ozpin. He held the stare for a moment with a fierce expression, before the old Roan came back for a time. He flashed a mischievous smile and closed his eyes. "At least, what you stood for. What you _stand _for. It was Vlad's idea."

_Vladimir.. How far have you fallen? _Ozpin pinched the skin between his eyes and contemplated for a moment, before putting the thought aside and returning his attention to Roan. _That is a thought for another time. _"I believe you still haven't answered my question."

* * *

The ever-present, ever-blinding, and ever-invasive white light was like the blanketing rays of an omniscient being, always watching, always judging.

Vlad sat in the center of the oppressive white light cast by several high-powered bulbs scattered throughout his cell. He slouched forward and propped his elbows on his knees, sagging his head and neck downward, allowing the edge of his hood to barely cover his eyes from the direct onslaught of light from the walls. He was fidgeting, bouncing his leg on the ball of his foot over and over like an impatient child, tracing the lines between tiles with his eyes, keeping his mind occupied and as far away from being idle as possible.

_1022.. 1023.. 1024.. _he counted, stopping at one-thousand-twenty-four and starting back at one as he traced a single square tile with his eyes and counted each rotation. Vlad began his count anew and got to sixteen before something in his sterile, static environment changed. As if an act of God, the lights dimmed. All of the light emitted from the walls ceased. The room was now only illuminated by the lights in the ceiling. Vlad raised his head just a few inches and stopped bouncing his foot. A door, apparently concealed in the wall, slid into the wall itself, and in flooded the most distinct, memorable color of green he had ever seen.

"Ozpin.." Vlad murmured, almost subconsciously. The usually reflective green flames of Ozpin's Aura were now dingy, matte and listless. He was full of sorrow, regret, and sympathy. _Pathetic. How dare you pity me. _He heard the metallic clunks of a steel chair as Ozpin placed it before him and took a seat opposite Vlad. Even with his eyes closed, Vlad could read Ozpin like a book. He felt terrible, like somehow talking to his former students before they were carted off to a firing squad could absolve him of sin. Like he had no part in the events befallen Vlad and Team REPR. In a way, it was all his fault. If not for Ozpin, they would not be here, sitting in a cell, waiting for each other to break the ice.

_If not for Ozpin.. _Vlad bit his lip, _if not for him, we would probably be dead already. _The headmaster's voice broke Vlad's train of thought.

"Care to let me in on this one-sided conversation?"

Vlad's eyes shot up, the only light in the room casting heavy shadows across his eyes and nose, only revealing his mouth from darkness. _You.. _Vlad struggled to make his brain form a coherent thought and catch up to his mouth. "Fine. What do you want?" he humored, already knowing the answer from diving into Ozpin's Aura with his Semblance. He was surprised by an answer he didn't see coming.

"I just want to know how you're doing."

The hooded Hunter finally finished his initial thought at a realization, Ozpin found a way to hide his active thoughts from him. _You clever bastard. _"Don't patronize me."

Ozpin pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward slightly. "I don't think I need to prove-" Ozpin gestured with one hand by tapping two fingers on his temple, "-that I bitterly regret the way events unfolded. You can see for yourself. I meant every word, I want to make sure you are alright before-"

"Don't," Vlad interjected with a raised hand. "Just don't. I don't give a shit what you want. So don't try to get on my good side. We are going to be _executed,_ so don't you _dare _feed me that 'I hope your last days are comfortable' bullshit. I don't want it. I don't _deserve _it. Not after what I did." Vlad slouched his head back down and stared at the tiles in the floor again, before he realized something slipped back into his mind with the last words he spoke. _Get out... Get out... I don't need you right now... Just stay out. _But it was futile, one of the lingering souls was beginning to surface.

Vlad could see the deep green pool of Ozpin's Aura falter for just a moment, flickering like a cold flame in the wind. "What happened to make your view on the world sour so completely?"

The steady stream of inquiry was enough to bide his time and keep Vlad's mind on topic and away from a possible episode. He laced his fingers together and clenched his hands into a cumulative fist. "I killed a man," he deadpanned. At this point in time, this was no secret. Much to his dismay, the path laid out behind him toward his ultimate goal required blood, it was unreachable otherwise. "The first person.. first of many, to fall by my hand.. it changed me."

"What happened?" Ozpin asked after a minute of silence. To his own ears, he sounded prideful, and greedy. Like he was digging for answers to satisfy his own want for some sick form of gossip. But one way or another, and whether he like it or not, Ozpin had a goal to find out why Team REPR went rogue. And with Vlad, he was getting close to that answer.

Vlad sat straighter, letting his arms limply sag atop his thighs. He let all of his weight lean back into the metal frame and began. "The first time I killed a man, as you remember, I was still attending Beacon. It was the end of our first year, and we were deployed to still a White Fang insurgence in the warehouse district with as little bloodshed as possible. But something went wrong.. When we got there, the shipyard was already littered with corpses. We didn't know who, we didn't know what, we didn't even know how, but the survivors were in fight-for-your-life mentality. For whatever reason, that included us.

"There was maybe a handful left alive, even fewer were fully functional. As soon as they caught sight of the four of us, a heavy-gunner opened up on us. Roan broke for cover, Melania broke for cover, Natasha just stood there and weathered the automatic fire like a gust, and I circumvented the carnage. It didn't take long for me to find more survivors of the attack squirreled away in an abandoned warehouse, quivering to the bone in sheer terror from.. _something - _to this day I still don't know what. I trekked the rusted rafters above, in hindsight, not one of my better moves, when a beam sheared clean off and sent me tumbling down.

"This whole time, I could see every single ounce of fear in their hearts, I could feel their nerves on edge. So through their eyes, I saw myself crash down, and through their minds, I saw death coming to claim the survivors. To this day... I have never forgotten what that man saw in me... He was hallucinating, the figure before him was wreathed in black smoke as burning red eyes cut through the shadows of the hood, clutching the scythe in its hand. I knew he was hallucinating, because I had dropped my weapon, this man literally thought I was Death, come for his immortal soul." Vlad paused for a moment and cleared his throat, it had been several months, maybe even years since he opted to speak for so long.

The weary Hunter leaned forward on his elbows again, almost physically bearing the weight of the memory. "He started running away, but fired his weapon behind him. Screaming the whole way, he shot, and _killed_, several of the cowering Faunus in his wake. I started after him, I had to catch him, had to stop him before he caused even more unnecessary pain. I chased him through several open containers before I finally caught up in another warehouse, but I lost him. I had to open my eyes, search with my Semblance to catch his trail. I picked up a discarded knife as a chill of fear crawled up my spine. I was still young back then, so naive.. I wasn't ready for real combat. The harder I searched with my minds eye, the more of his fear started creep into my own emotion. Within minutes, I was as terrified as he was.

"I heard something behind me, but was too slow turning. He caught me in the chest with a kick and sent me spilling to the ground, I had to scramble to my feet and run.. There was no reason for it, I just had to run. But he followed, turning the Hunter into the hunted. In the panicked state I was in, my training, my discipline abandoned me, and I ran into a dead end. I turned to face my pursuer, who stayed on my heels like the devil himself. As soon as I got the meager knife in my hand up to bear..." Vlad paused as his posture straightened, and his eyes shot from side to side, like he was reading something that shocked him to the core, "and I-.. he.. no. No, that's not how it happened.. I thrust the knife in my hand.. but he caught my wrist and squeezed, it fell from my grip. He caught it.. and.. this, this can't be right.." Vlad cupped his face with both hands and rubbed his eyes.

"And then what?" Ozpin asked in a quiet tone.

Vlad dropped one hand, but carefully observed the open palm of his right hand. "He disarmed me.. and he.. he, killed me. I-.. what? What is going on? How am I alive?!" Vlad started to panic, patting down his torso in search of a stab wound, "I remember the knife in my chest! Right between the ribs, I remember the pain as he twisted and my ribs parted, spilling blood out... I remember it! Wait.." He stopped dead, and looked at his hands, turning them over and looking over the Dust-inked tattoo on his entire right arm. "That.. that soldier had this same tattoo. But.. that can't-.." Vlad clutched the sides of his head with both hands and clenched every muscle in his body, causing him to fall from the chair as he started shaking in terror. He let out a primordial scream as he curled into a ball on the floor. "WHO AM I?!"

* * *

A/N: I actually added a personal tick of mine in here. When I was a kid, and it can be said that it is still true, I would do what Vlad is doing here to calm myself. I have heavily number-oriented OCD, and my obsession usually revolves around specific patterns and the number 4. It is no coincidence that he counted to 1024 and stopped at 16. It both vexes, and consoles me to rely on numbers in extremely stressful situations. And having a job where I'm practically paid to be OCD doesn't really help either...

Don't mind me... just the mad ramblings of an artist and whatnot~


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